


Contact Points

by lamardeuse



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-04
Updated: 2010-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So much for insulation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contact Points

He finds John in his quarters, standing in front of his bathroom mirror.  He’s trying to pull his t-shirt up over his head and failing miserably.  Rodney hears the small frustrated huff of sound as John’s arms fall back down again, before he sees Rodney and puts on that affable mask that drives Rodney nuts. 

“Hey,” John says, mouth twisting in a come-hither smile.

_Fine_, Rodney thinks, though for once he keeps it to himself.  “Hey,” he says, in a poor imitation of John’s carefree tone.  “I heard you had a little trouble offworld.”

John’s mask slips a little.  “Who told you that?”

Rodney flaps a hand.  “Oh, you know how news travels around here.”  Much more politic than the truth, which is: _I browbeat Carson until he showed me your records.  _

John narrows his eyes.  “Yeah.  So, you going to give me a lecture now or later?”

“Who says I’m giving you a lecture?”

John narrows his eyes to slits.  Rodney sighs, suddenly exhausted by the way they play these roles with one another even when no one else is looking, because it supposedly keeps them insulated from the unpredictable shocks of sudden contact.  The problem is, it’s never worked as advertised.  If he’s safely insulated, he shouldn’t feel like a live wire ready to melt from the inside out, resistors burnt to hell by the overwhelming flow of current.

He’s never been this exposed before, and it scares the hell out of him most days.  When they started sleeping together, he didn’t expect the stress of wondering if John was going to survive the next trip through the Gate, the next expedition to the bowels of the city, the next Wraith attack.  More precisely, he never expected it to be more stressful than wondering if _he _was going to make it through another mission in one piece.  Sex, even really phenomenal, regular sex, is not worth it, and this isn’t the first time he’s thought about calling it quits.

Then John winces involuntarily, and the words Rodney was thinking of saying clog his throat.  He takes a step forward, then another. 

“Look, it was stupid,” John says, “just a fall.”  His eyes are on his own image in the mirror as he pulls up the hem of his t-shirt.  “Carson says – ”

Rodney lays a palm on the small of John’s back, the bared flesh almost hot to the touch.  John’s head snaps up, reflected gaze meeting his in the glass, a trick of the light. 

“I know what Carson says,” Rodney murmurs.  “I asked him.”

John sucks in a breath, then another.  Rodney slides his hand higher to feel the expansion and contraction of his ribs.  “Why?” John husks.

Rodney’s eyes drop to his splayed fingers.  “Because you’d tell me it was just a fall.”

For a few seconds Rodney just feels him breathe – in, out, in.  “What did Carson tell you?”

Rodney looks up.  “That it’s just a fall,” he admits, ignoring John’s smug look.  “No internal bleeding, no broken bones, no concussion, only a mother of a bruise on your – ” he hisses as John lifts the shirt higher, revealing the purpling bruise that covers about half of his left side.  “Christ.”

“You said no lectures,” John whines.

“I’m not lecturing you, you idiot,” Rodney says, and his voice is shaking now, dammit, “just – bend over.”

“What?”

“Turn around and bend over and put your hands on the sink,” Rodney orders.  “Do it,” he adds at John’s skeptical look. 

John produces an aggrieved growl but obeys, and Rodney gently pushes the shirt up his body.  His progress is good until he catches the fabric on the underside of John’s nose (“Hey!  Watch it,”) but recovers nicely with an effortless slide up John’s outstretched arms.

John straightens slowly, and Rodney resists trying to help him because he’s not sure how much assistance John is willing to tolerate.  When John turns back around, he’s got an odd light in his eyes that Rodney hasn’t seen before; he places his hands on Rodney’s hips and smiles, and Rodney’s heart burns up from the center outwards, like a sun.

“Your turn,” John murmurs, leaning in to nuzzle Rodney’s ear, fingers brushing against Rodney’s skin as he tugs at his shirt.

“Are you sure?” Rodney asks, and this is the wrong thing to say, he knows it even before John stiffens.  “Yes, okay, all right,” he says hastily, stepping back to shuck off his shirt before starting on his pants.  With a little bit of mutual appreciation, they’re both naked within a minute or so.  John’s already hard, and Rodney can’t wait, dropping to his knees on the wrinkled pile of clothes.  He mouths up the length of John’s cock, feeling him harden before he reaches the tip.  When Rodney takes him in, he can feel John’s pulse beat against his tongue, and he shuts his eyes briefly.

_Careful_, he thinks, but he knows it’s too late for that.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

It’s almost dark, the Atlantean sun well below the horizon, and Rodney is watching John sleep.  Hardly aware he’s doing it, he reaches out and strokes two fingers along the line of John’s bare shoulder.  John jerks awake, groaning faintly.

Rodney starts guiltily.  “Sorry.”  He removes his hand, but John shakes his head and cracks open an eyelid. 

“No, s’okay,” he murmurs.  “Feels nice.”  He rolls to his side; there’s just enough light to see the stain marring his pale skin.

Rodney resumes his caresses, feeling slightly foolish.  He can’t remember doing this with anyone but his cat, but he can’t help himself; in a startlingly short time he’s become addicted to John’s warm, welcoming body, and to those moments when the masks have fallen, when he’s half-asleep and there is no insulation between them, anywhere at all.

He can’t be careful, because the thought of letting that go is worse than the fear of losing it.

Because phenomenal sex isn’t worth it, but John is.

He strokes John’s shoulder for a very long time, and then he molds his palm over John’s hip and feels his own blood throb in his fingertips.

**Author's Note:**

> First published May 2006.


End file.
